Hermione
by Spouse of Orestes
Summary: The story of the daughter of Helen of Troy. As a warning, this is a really dark fic based on the tragedies of Euripides and the dark love poem by Ovid.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** I was going through some of the old incomplete fanfics I've written and I came upon this one. This was one of the first fanfics I've written a few years ago and it actually inspired my pen name. I didn't edit anything from the original way I wrote this years ago so my style might be quite different from my recent Narnian stories. As of now this story is still incomplete, but if I find any readers for this, I may be able to finish it. So if anyone ever bothers to read this, do send me a review if you want me to continue. It was only last night that I found a category for this under Greek Mythology in I didn't publish it before because I thought there was only the "Iliad" as category and Hermione's story does not really fall under the Iliad. Her story comes primarily from Ovid and Euripides. _

_This is my version of the story of Hermione (not the Harry Potter character, I'm talking about the original Hermione), the daughter of Helen of Troy and the wife of Orestes. _

**Hermione**

I stare out into the glimmering sea watching the sun die as it slowly fades over the water's edge. Phoebus with all his glory, surrenders at the end of the day to Poseidon's kingdom and makes way for darkness. It was ordained to be such each day. It is a futile fight of Phoebus but he knows he shall return again tomorrow—as I know my time shall come and He shall return for me.

I am waiting again, as I have waited countless times for how many years. My waiting in the past has brought me nothing but disappointment and pain. But there is nothing to do but wait still. In waiting lies my hope and my one last reason to live.

I've been betrayed so many times by the closest persons known to me. I have lived with so many lies that I find it hard to believe anymore. Only he remains for me.

* * *

I had no recollection of my mother until I saw her briefly when I was fourteen. I was barely four years when she left my father's house, a willing captive of my father's guest. Paris, the young prince from Troy had beguiled my mother, my aunt Clytemnestra used to say. But I knew better. My mother was Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. And she had done her share of beguiling the handsome stranger from the East. She is not as guiltless as my aunt defends her to be or as my father reasons. She departed with her lover in haste, not even bothering to look back at her home or to even leave a farewell kiss to her only child.

But why should she worry? The queen of Sparta has no business with children, even with her own daughter. To her it was a right to do what she pleased. I knew from the stories I have heard growing up how my mother had led a pampered life. She was the daughter of Zeus through Leda and was proclaimed as handsome as the goddesses of Olympus. Kings, princes and lords flocked to her when it came time for her to marry. Her foster-father Tyndareus chose Menelaus of Argos, brother of the Agamemnon and the most powerful Grecian king for her. No doubt, Helen could have had Agamemnon himself had he not been already married to her sister, my aunt. Her marriage had only increased her status. She became queen of her homeland, with her husband settled as king. How my father indulged her, I can only imagine from the rich rooms she settled in. What more could she ask for? She was richer than anyone, save her sister. She had a husband that worshipped her constantly and a beauty envied by all. She was revered a goddess on earth. But no! It was not enough! It was never enough. When a strange prince comes to her door, she must have him as well.

And so it was that she left and my father, my uncle Agamemnon and all the nobles of Greece gave her chase. I was only the first of many casualties. Abandoned by mother, deprived of father, I was sent with a nurse to live at my aunt's house where I joined in the sorrow of others.

* * *

I remembered little of my first day in the house of Agamemnon. But I remembered the household that greeted me was one disturbed with wailing. I learned later that Agamemnon had sacrificed his own daughter Iphigenia to gain fair winds to set sail for Troy. Had I been older, I would have been horrified at such cruelty of a father to his own child. My father, I thought, would never do such a thing. I was to learn later that a daughter is worth only as either a sacrifice or a prize, the latter being harder for a woman to bear. In this, Iphigenia was fortunate.

My aunt had nothing to do with me. She barely spoke or even looked at me at all. No inquiry of my welfare had ever passed her lips in the ten years I've lived with her. It was her young daughter Electra, only nine years old then, that looked after me. On the day of my arrival, I remembered the warmth of her welcoming embrace.

"Greetings cousin," I recalled Electra say as she took my hand. I could see tears welling in her eyes at the thought of her older sister offered on the altar of Artemis. Yet even in her sorrow she struggled to be cheerful for my benefit. "Come, you must be friends with my brother."

She led me to a chamber where no sound of sorrow entered. Here in the midst of lavish curtains and expensive toys was a boy of my age with dark brown locks the same color as my father. He sat up when we arrived and he came running at his sister, entreating her to play with him.

"Not now, Orestes, I cannot," Electra said gently as she pulled his clutching hands from her robe. "But here, I've brought you a new playmate. This is our cousin, Hermione."

Not being around other children, I was rather shy and frightened of Orestes. But he was such a delightful boy that we immediately became friends. We passed many a time together, unaware of the sorrow of the house until it passed. Electra came to us often and would entertain us with stories or bring us gifts. What I knew of a mother's love, I knew only from her.

Clytemnestra never came to us. When she wanted to see her children, she summoned them to her quarters. Orestes and Electra always came back from such meetings with dejected spirits. Apparently, Clytemnestra only speaks to her children to scold them of their wrongs or to lecture them of their duties. Electra usually receives the harsher reproaches. Poor Electra lamented that her mother always found her too plain and ungraceful. Her awkwardness in carrying herself usually earned the ire of her mother who constantly berated her faults as unbefitting a princess.

"Why can't you be like Iphigenia?" Electra would repeat her mother's rants, when she cried to us after a scolding session. "She had everything—beauty, grace, wit. It was unfortunate your father had to sacrifice her. She would have won a prince or a king when she married. Not like you. No nobleman of Greece would want you. You are fit only for a peasant. Your father should have sacrificed you in her stead. We would not have gained a terrible loss then."

I didn't know how to comfort her when she cried. But I always held her hand and she would look pleased. Orestes, however, knew exactly how to make her smile again.

"That's not true," Orestes would say to her while kissing her face and engulfing her in his arms. "You're beautiful, Electra. And when I am king I'll find you the kindest, most handsome and richest husband." He would then turn to me. "And I'll find a husband for Hermione too."

Electra would just laugh at him. "You need not worry about Hermione. You will be her husband." She would then explain how our grandfather Tyndareus had already promised us to each other. Orestes and I never thought much about that, but as I grew up I valued that promise for life.

Clytemnestra was different with Orestes. As a son and heir it was natural that he was treated differently by their mother. But that did not make her any more endearing in Orestes' eyes.

"Why doesn't she look at me?" Orestes asked one day when he came back after a scolding. "She speaks sternly but she always looks away from me. It's as if she doesn't want to see me. When her gaze passes my face, she hurriedly looks away. Am I so hateful?"

"Of course not, darling," Electra soothed him. She paused and looked away and her face hardened all of a sudden. "It's not your fault you look so much like father."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Orestes and I were nine when I began to realize something was wrong in the house of Agamemnon. There was a man named Aegisthus that often frequented the palace and later he came to stay permanently, acting as if he was master. Orestes disliked him very much and would try to avoid him as much as he can, except when his mother summoned him to meet Aegisthus. Electra disliked him even more and would curse him under her breath when she saw him. I didn't understand at all. Orestes and Electra gave me no answers, but merely told me the man was evil. It wasn't until an incident occurred that I discovered the reason for my cousins' hatred.

Orestes and I were lazing about in the garden one late afternoon. I was busy picking the early spring flowers, stringing them into a garland. Orestes was attempting to string his small bow. He had been taking lessons in archery since he was seven and he was getting quite good, though he was still having difficulty stringing. I had just finished a garland and I surprised him by throwing it at his head. He lost his concentration with the bow and playfully chased me around the garden on the intent of exacting revenge. We were running and laughing out loud when a servant came to stop us. He had a message for Orestes. His mother was summoning him again to join her at the table with Aegisthus.

Orestes' face turned immediately to anger and told the servant he refused to come to the house. The servant dejectedly turned away, surprised at this new form of defiance. It wasn't long before another servant came, but Orestes angrily refused to comply. After the third summon, Clytemnestra herself came with Aegisthus in tow. Electra, hearing the commotion, came rushing out after them.

"Why have you not come when I summoned you?" she exclaimed. She was so angry I hung back in fright. But Orestes faced her with equal rage.

"I would not insult my father by consorting with your paramour!"

Clytemnestra's eyes inflamed with fury. "He is my husband now and master of this house and you will do as I say and as he says."

"Husband? Master? You forget that my father is still alive. In his absence, I am master. You have soiled my father's house long enough. I will not stand it anymore." He turned to Aegisthus. "Leave this moment by your will or it will be by my servants' hands."

Aegisthus calmly turned to Oretes with a sneer that turned my blood cold. "Young Orestes, what pride you have. But it is wasted pride. You see, your father may well be dead now. The war has lasted long enough and it is not likely he will survive. I am now king of all of Mycenae by marriage to your mother. You are merely a child, you cannot understand these things."

"I understand well enough you snake..." Orestes launched a stream of profanities that was cut abruptly by a blow to his head. I screamed as he fell and I rushed to his aid, but a one of the guards that I knew were Aegisthus' servants restrained me. Electra reached him and tried to shield her brother with her body. His nose was bleeding but he continued to hurl insults. Electra, enraged by the attack on Orestes, joined him in shouting at their mother and her lover. But Clytemnestra caught her by the hair and handed her to a servant to be dragged away into the house. Aegisthus at once hit Orestes repeatedly. Orestes tried to fight back but his nine-year-old body could not stand the blows of a full-grown man. He finally crumpled to the ground but even then Aegisthus kicked him savagely until he could no longer move. Through my tears I saw his mother stood triumphantly and watched hungrily with such pleasure in her eyes. It was a horror I never forgot and a crime I never forgave her.

Clytemnestra had a servant drag me away. I was brought to my chamber where my nurse was waiting. I screamed and screamed and demanded to be let out, but the guard my aunt put outside was stern and threatened my nurse and the other servants severe punishments if any of them tried to let me go. I cried the whole day, waiting in apprehension to what happened to my cousins. Were they still being beaten? Were they even alive at all?

It was hours later when Electra limped her way to my chamber. Her robes were torn, her hair in disarray, and her face and arms were bruised. Still, she was demanding to see her brother and threatened every servant harsh penalties if Orestes was killed. When she saw that it was pointless, she allowed me to attend to her wounds. Clytemnestra had ordered that no one should attend her at all, so I took the task. No food was brought to us and we lay awake late at night. We pleaded and pleaded to see Orestes, but we were not heeded. We fell asleep when exhaustion took us.

The following day, we were finally allowed to leave our chamber. We found Orestes lying on the floor of his chamber, severely bruised and hardly able to talk. Electra and I managed to put him to bed and nurse his wounds. But even through his pain I could see his anger swelling, his courage was undiminished.

* * *

It was the first of more than five years of suffering. Aegisthus had taken to beating Orestes regularly, but always stopped short of killing him. The beatings were also made at intervals so his wounds would heal only slightly before the fresh wounds would start again. However, Orestes never backed down from Aegisthus. He refused to acknowledge him as lord and no amount of regular beatings from Aegisthus broke through Orestes' conviction. He never cried out or showed tears in front of his tormentor. He would accept the beatings until his body gave way and Aegisthus would order him sent to his chamber without supper and instructions to the servants not to tend to him.

The servants, however showed such great compassion in our suffering. Even with Aegisthus' gravest threats, it did not stop them from smuggling food to their little master and tending to his wounds. I never forgot that show of kindness and through my life, I never became cruel to any slave under my wing but offered them much gentleness and respect.

Electra, on the other hand, after months of protest, was sent away by her mother to a country home far away. We never even got to say goodbye to her. One night after Orestes was severely beaten, Clytemnestra ordered her bags packed and sent off immediately. When we woke the next morning, we found her chamber empty. She managed to send us letters she passed off secretly to faithful servants. She was treated well in her new home, she wrote, but she was like a prisoner there. Nevertheless, her words of affection managed to reach us and it was our best source of comfort.

"Take care of each other," she often wrote. "Be strong and have faith." To Orestes, she often addressed: "Never forget who you are. You are Agamemnon's son and you should always honor our father. He will come soon and he will restore us to right."

Orestes and I held on to each other even closer now that we have lost our "little mother." We were each others' confidant and we shared our sufferings. Although, Clytemnestra made sure I was never starved after the first night of Orestes' beating, I refused to eat when Orestes was ordered without food as punishment. Often, at night after a beating, I would steal into his chamber and lay beside him. I would embrace him and kiss him as I had seen Electra done so many times. We would cry together for hours and hold each other until morning.

Orestes grew vengeful each day and would tell me how he desired to kill Aegisthus and bring his own mother to justice. I could not believe he could do so, as he seemed so small and young, yet each time I encouraged him. It was only justice after all.

**A/N: Thanks to the four people who reviewed. **

**To Fledge, I know this is really quite dark. When I re-read it again after so long, it actually scared me but it's dying to be written so I think I'll continue with it.**

**I know Clytemnestra sounds really harsh here and we don't really see the bad side of Agamemnon, but I was thinking that this is all from Hermione's point of view. I was re-reading Euripides' plays and I realize more and more that Hermione isn't exactly a very nice person, neither is Electra or Orestes—okay the entire family is actually quite deranged. When I started writing this two years ago, I remembered imagining Hermione to be influenced primarily by Electra and Orestes (who by the way, are not the best models for family values). And I could just imagine that her cousins are quite biased towards their father and against their mother. I tried to imagine why and I thought that perhaps they have a history of child abuse. As for Clytemnestra, I think she has her own issues why she would be harsh on her children. I think it's her form of revenge on her husband for the murder of possibly her favorite child, her first born. I could think of other reasons that she could have for hating her husband, but I suppose that's worth another story from Clytemnestra's POV, if I ever get down to writing it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Our childhood passed in a haze of misery. Orestes and I were now prisoners in my uncle's house, though it had been a long time since it was called so. Aegisthus now ruled openly with my aunt. He claimed to be the rightful heir to the throne of Mycenae owing to a long-standing feud between his own father Thyestes and his brother, our paternal grandfather Atreus, who seized the throne years ago and had killed Thyestes' children.

Clytemnestra never laid a hand on me. She would claim that, of course. It was her lover's servants who pulled at my hair or slapped me every time I try to defend Orestes from being beaten. But I always see her watching me whenever I was physically hurt. And I could see she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it even more when I had bruises on my face. One time when I had a particular ugly welt on my cheek and my hair was pulled so much when I tried to force my body to come between Orestes' body and Aegisthus' fists, she came over to me and hissed:

"There, you won't be a beauty now. I'll stamp that out of you before you can become like a whore like your mother. Then you won't turn my husband's gaze away from me."

I understood then that she too was jealous of her sister's beauty. That was why she hated the sight of me too. Perhaps my mother with her accursed face had also attracted Agamemnon. But why should I pay for it? Why should the punishments for the parent's fault be inflicted on her child?

Orestes and I lived in constant fear of our lives, and it only increased as we grew older. Each time he was beaten, I worried that he would be killed. It would be the most logical thing for Aegisthus to do, for surely, Orestes was the only threat to his claim to the throne. Yet, surprisingly, Aegisthus always held back from finishing him off completely. I've often wondered why. Was it some form of torture he gave us? Make us suffer? Make us beg for death?

It was Arsinoe, Orestes' nurse and one of the servants who were loyal to us who finally provided the explanation.

"There are there many people out—common peasants who kept their faith on Agamemnon," she told us one night. "They believe he is still alive and is still the true king. Aegisthus is fearful that if my young lord Orestes is killed such an outrage would lead the people to rally against him."

Yet, despite this, no one dared to openly oppose Aegisthus without a leader to back them. Orestes could be that leader, but at present, a boy of thirteen, and a prisoner at that with barely any contact to the world outside the palace, could do little to lead an armed insurrection.

I knew Aegisthus hoped to break Orestes' will with the beatings. He no longer shouted back when he was beaten. And perhaps that convinced Aegisthus that his spirit was being broken. But I knew better. I could see behind Orestes' eyes his continued faith in his father's return and his thirst for vengeance. He trained everyday with any weapon—sword, bow, axe—whenever he was able. He slept with a dagger under his pillow and I knew he kept one on his person all the time when he was awake, usually conspicuously hidden at the side of his sandal. He was constantly vigilant of any danger, silently waiting for the opportunity to strike.

I was now a woman. One day, a few months short of my fourteenth year, I woke up in a panic when my robes were stained with my own blood. It was my nurse who explained it and told me that this marked my entry to womanhood. She forbade me to go up to Orestes' chamber. Still, I went there the next time he was beaten again. But something changed that night. Something I couldn't understand. After I had tended to his wounds, there was something about the way he looked at me that was different. Suddenly, the thin robe I usually wore to bed looked too revealing and I was conscious at the way he glanced at my budding breasts.

"What's wrong?" he asked when I turned away from his touch. He was expecting a kiss and a hug and I refused it.

"Nurse said I musn't stay here anymore. I'll go back to my chamber when you're settled."

"You're not staying with me tonight?" he asked. He didn't hide his disappointment.

"No, I cannot."

"But you always stay with me when I get beaten. Don't you want to anymore?"

"No, I do but I can't."

"Why not?"

I was at a lost. How do I tell him that I felt shy around him? It was so strange. He was Orestes. We grew up together, I've spent almost every night in his chamber since the beatings started. But now I couldn't bring myself to be near him.

"Fine," he said angrily when I didn't answer. "Go back to your own chamber and leave me. You don't care about me anymore and you'll leave me too. Just like the rest of my family."

"That's not true," I said. "I do care about you. I'm your family, I'm your cousin."

"But you won't stay with me tonight."

"No I can't."

"Then go," he said bitterly. "I never want to see you again."

I entreated him but he was angry and refused to speak to me. I tried to tuck him in bed at least but he refused all help. I finally left him alone and went to cry in my own bed. When I came to visit him in the morning, he was still sour. His temper didn't abate in the next days. After a week, he was well enough to go outside but even then he refused to speak to me. Aegisthus and Clytemnestra were in the countryside enjoying themselves at some sport and we had at least some freedom and a chance to relax. We always looked forward to times like these. But now I was lonely and miserable without him. I watched him practice with his bow and sword with the servants but whenever I attempt to talk to him he would huff angrily and ignore me. If I persisted in trying to make my peace, he would shout at me to leave him alone and go off to some corner to vent out his anger with his sword. It was the first time we ever argued so seriously.

After almost three weeks of misery I went to his chamber at night to plead once more. I found him writing a letter, I assumed, to Electra. For a moment, I stood there silently watching him at work, unaware of my presence. He had never appeared more handsome to me with his golden locks framing his now chiseled face. There was a bit of stubble on his chin, something I haven't noticed before. He had disregarded his robe and was just wearing a loin cloth and I could see his broad chest, strong and expansive, bearing scars from his many beatings. The more recent ones produced ugly welts near his shoulder that reached down to the small of his back. I longed to touch those scars and kiss them to ease the pain. I couldn't help myself and I reached out to touch his shoulder.

Suddenly, I felt myself flung to the ground so violently and a blade pressed to my throat.

"Orestes!" I gasped. Every vein of my being was pulsating as he looked at me so menacingly with his dagger poised to cut off my life.

He looked bewildered at me and lowered his dagger. But he didn't let me go. "Hermione," he murmured. He stared at me for a long time and his eyes studied my face as if he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze was overpowering. I felt my breath caught in my throat though there was no dagger there.

Finally he seemed to awaken and he got up and his expression changed. "I could have killed you!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you but I—"

"What do you want?"

He sat back down on his chair and refused to look at me. I knelt at his side. "Please don't be angry at me. I want us to be friends again. I'll stay with you tonight if you want. Every night if you wish it, but please talk to me."

He refused to answer and I began to sob. Just as I thought he would never answer, he turned to face me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered awkwardly.

That one word made me burst out to tears even more and I flung myself at him and rained kisses on his face. For a moment it felt like what it used to be. I kissed him and patted him like when we were little. But when my lips accidentally touched his that strange feeling returned and I drew back. Before I could turn away, his lips were on mine again. It was nothing like I felt before. He moved his lips against mine and I found myself responding.

When we parted I felt my cheeks grow hot and my heart was still racing. I couldn't look at him.

"Your nurse is right. You shouldn't stay here anymore," he said quietly. "W-we'll talk tomorrow alright, I'm not angry anymore, but you better go now."

I nodded and ran from his room. All night I thought nothing but him and that kiss we shared. I knew then I loved him.

We tried to ignore what happened. We tried to carry on like used to. But there was always that awkwardness. I had the urge to kiss him again and I knew he felt the same. We couldn't resist it for long. Less than a week after that first kiss, Orestes took me by the hand to a secluded part of the garden. He didn't say anything but took me in his arms and kissed me. I kissed him back and reveled in the new sensation of being a woman loved by a man.

We spent our days like that. I never came to his chamber, but always we would steal away into the shadows and kiss and make promises of love. He vowed that I would be his bride when he had grown up and ruled Mycenae. I would be his queen and we would have children we will never lay a strong hand on. Even after my aunt and her lover returned and the abuses resumed, we had our love to hang on to and that was enough.

_A/N: Here's an interesting tidbit for those of you who bothered to read this story (my grateful thanks to all those who do, and a large bucketful of thanks to those who reviewed), I was re-reading Euripides' Orestes-related plays (Electra, Iphigenia in Tauris, Iphigenia in Aulis, Orestes, and Andromache) and I discovered that Agamemnon is blonde, so is Iphigenia. Logically, I assume that all of Agamemnon's children are also blonde and perhaps so is Menalaus. You know how in the movies, Helen is usually portrayed as a blonde while Agamemnon is dark haired. Well I decided to get out of that stereotype. So in my story Agamemnon and his children are all blonde, Helen, Clytemnestra and Hermione are brunettes. _


End file.
